


Warm Sheets and Tortillas

by theredanemone



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, is this fluff?, post coital snackage, sex mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-11 03:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11140344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theredanemone/pseuds/theredanemone
Summary: Cynthia gets, perhaps, a little too comfortable during her first night at Cisco's.





	Warm Sheets and Tortillas

She could hear bathtub knobs groaning and the sound of running water, the plastic curtain sliding along its rail, and with that, she knew Cisco had climbed into the shower. Cynthia laid where she was, nestled in his sheets, still warm and heavy from their frolic moments before. Steam started to drift languidly into the room from the door he'd no doubt left ajar for her. The man was not subtle, bless him, but she wasn't in any hurry to wash up. A part of her enjoyed being enveloped in the scent he'd left clinging to his pillows, and in any case, she'd learned a long time ago that sharing post coital showers just wasn't worth the gymnastics. All that slick tile, soap, and suds would defy gravity itself, and no training of hers would save them.   
Sorry Cisco, she thought, but you're gonna have to wash your hair alone.  
She was thirsty, though, and a little hungry. Cynthia rolled herself up in his bed and made a reach for her clothes, but the tight, dirty leather and fatigues were the last things she wanted on her skin right now. Truth be told, she hadn't thought this far ahead. The moment they'd breached into his apartment had been of the hot and heavy variety, and the whole “spare change of clothes” thing just hadn't occurred to her. Cynthia glanced about the room, taking in her options. No robe in sight, but there was a pair of neatly folded purple pajamas resting on a small armchair by the door, as if Cisco had washed them and never quite got around to putting them away. She slipped into them and hoped Cisco wouldn't mind.   
Once out of his bedroom, she took a moment to take in the rest of his place. For a bachelor, he'd done pretty well for himself. An open layout, whatever the apartment had lacked for in size, Cisco had more than made up for in creativity. Not a single corner felt crowded, even with oddities like pinball machines and enshrined sneakers tucked away here and there.  
Sneakers? Jeez, never give a nerd disposable income, she thought.   
Though Cynthia had to admit that she couldn't really complain. It was leaps and bounds better than any bachelor pad she'd ever tumbled into; tastefully, albeit eccentrically, decorated, there was no smelly laundry strewn anywhere, no dirty dishes left rotting in the sink, and best of all, nearly a dozen different bottles of hot sauce were lined along his stove top! The man certainly knew what he was doing.  
This was the home he'd made.  
This was him.  
And with that thought, all of the plants, board games, posters, and industrial lighting not only made sense, they felt right. They felt warm. And perhaps she wouldn't mind turning up for a visit or two in the future.   
The shower was still running, and she suddenly wanted to have food on a plate for the both of them by the time he got out. Her simple quest to satiate her munchies now abandoned, Cynthia ducked into Cisco's fridge in search of something that they could share. Frozen burritos were out of the question, as for some reason, Cisco kept his microwave atop the fridge, embarrassingly out of her reach. But he had plenty of tortillas, queso, and what looked like leftover ropa vieja from some place called Ernesto's. Cisco didn't strike Cynthia as the kind of man who'd say no to some late night quesadillas, so she warmed up a pan and got to work. 

She usually did this to music, but knowing that this earth hadn't yet evolved past the use of primitive handheld remote controls, she wasn't about to go hunting for whichever one controlled Cisco's sound system. With the carnitas sizzling in the pan, and a couple of tortillas warming up on his comál, Cynthia lapsed absentmindedly into her usual routine, humming along a nonsensical little tune that only made sense in her head.   
Lost in her little rhythm of trumpets and tambores, she didn't notice that the shower knobs had squeaked and the curtain had been pulled back along its track. She kept at her cooking, shaking her shoulders and swaying her hips as she layered bits of meat and cheese onto the tortillas. There was always a point when her humming wasn't enough, and little “cha ch-cha” noises played between her teeth in place of the drums that only she could hear. She was in her zone, folding, pressing, and flipping her quesadillas, cooking being the only nice thing that she ever got to do for herself at the end of the day.   
When they were ready, Cynthia made sure to turn the burners off in style, two quick flicks of the knobs and a spin on her heels that landed her face to face to the barely contained beaming grin of one Cisco Ramon.  
To her great and everlasting shame, she started.   
Then froze.   
Then seriously contemplated opening a breach through the floor beneath her. Would that have been worse? Surely this was worse.  
“Having fun?”   
This man and that damn smile. Heat was creeping up her neck.  
“No!”, she blurted quickly. “Food’s ready. I don't know where your plates are. And your microwave is on top of your fridge. Why is it there?!”  
Whatever the hell she was saying, Cynthia knew that this had to be a bad look. Frazzled little woman in oversized pajamas? Quesadillas smoking on the stove? No plates?   
His smile softened into something hungrier. That confidence that Cisco always found whenever he caught her off guard was playing into his eyes and squaring up his shoulders. He stepped towards her, cocky grin on his lips, his frame somehow looming over her as it did that day in his lab. Only this time, she couldn't help but step back, the countertop suddenly pressed into the small of her back.   
The heat was in her cheeks now.   
He was so close.  
“The plates are in the cabinet behind you,” he murmured in her ear, his voice low and husky.   
Cynthia slowly turned away from him, opened the cabinet, and reached for the plates.   
I should've breached out, she chastised herself.   
But Cisco's arms were around her waist, and she could smell the soap on his skin, and feel the softness in his voice this time.   
“If I didn't know you better, I'd be so bold as to say you're kind of cute!”  
Oh, this man. She was sure of it now. Breaching out would've been worse.


End file.
